


The difference of their anger

by thativy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: and Elia and her children's death, mentions of Elia and Rhaegar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thativy/pseuds/thativy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doran Martell has just risen from his bed when the letter is brought to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The difference of their anger

Doran Martell has just risen from his bed when the letter is brought to him.

 

At first he doesn't understand its contents. He reads the text over and over, trying to focus and failing miserably. The air feels hot and cold at the same time, his hands are shaking, it feels like his heart is trying to rise up his throat. He clenches his teeth and tries once more. He reads slowly. He stops in the middle and lets the words sink in before finishing.

“I want my brother here,” he hears himself saying. The guard at the door nods, bows and turns to exit. Doran's eyes feel dry and he blinks. This can't be true, there has to be a mistake here...

 

But there's not. The seal is authentic as is the signature under the cruel words.

 

Elia always said she would be fine. She said her husband would keep her safe. Doran had believed that because if there ever was an honorable and gentle man, that was Rhaegar Targaryen. That had been his opinion before the war, of course.

 

He realizes he has to take precautions so he turns to the other guard standing by the door of his bedroom.

“Once my brother is in here, I want five guards at both doors,” the prince of Dorne says, calm and collected, “and if he leaves before me, he is to be arrested. If he exits this room after me, leave him untouched.”

“As you say, my prince,” the guard says and goes to get more men. The confusion in his eyes is apparent but Doran doesn't want to explain. He has no idea what he is going to say to Oberyn, either. It is said that a prince must be prepared to all kinds of situations, but this... this is something different. How can one be prepared for something like this, even in the middle of a war?

 

He tries to drink some wine but it tastes like ash in his mouth. Ash and blood. A drop of sweat travels down his forehead. He splashes some water onto his face to stop his vision from swimming.

 

He still isn't prepared when his brother arrives. Oberyn raises an eyebrow when the doors are closed behind him, leaving the two princes completely alone in the room.

“What is it, brother?” the Red Viper asks, immediately heading for the wine cask. “Have I crossed you somehow or why wouldn't the guards tell me why I was summoned? Is there to be a scolding?”

 

Doran doesn't know what to say: he just looks at his brother. His face resembles Elia so much; if he didn't know better, he would've thought them twins. Oberyn looks back after wolfing half of his wine down and the amusement in his black eyes turns into concern. His eyes flicker to the letter still in Doran's hand.

“Brother?” the younger prince asks carefully, taking a step closer.

“Read this,” Doran raspes out and holds the letter out to his younger brother. Oberyn takes it, glances at him one more time and then starts to read. His face goes blank, expressionless, in the matter of seconds. Doran tries to drink the wine again but has to spit it back to the goblet. This should never have happened. If Rhaegar had loved Elia...

 

The letter floats from Oberyn's hands to the floor and he just stands there, motionless, his hands up as if he was still holding the paper. Doran is not sure if he has even noticed it dropped. Carefully the older man picks it up and places it on the table. He dares not take a step closer to his brother, not touch him, not say anything.

 

For one brief moment Oberyn looks like a child, completely lost. Then his anger rises in his viper's eyes, the rage settling his shoulders back and the muscles of his jaw tight.

“Is it true?” he asks, his voice surprisingly quiet but tight.

“The seal and signature leave no room for suspicion,” Doran replies, surprising himself with the calmness of his own voice. He is glad his brother doesn't have his spear with him.

“How... Why... A woman and children,” the younger prince says, his hands squeezing themselves into tight fists, “and they killed them. Murdered them. Monsters.”

“That they are,” Doran agrees, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He doesn't want to provoke his brother any more than it is necessary. Once awake, the viper's anger is dangerous and unpredictable.

“Murderers. Our sister. The mountain, I... How could he? How could the Lannisters..?”

 

Doran knows his brother is talking to himself and would need soothing, but the only person to ever manage that is Elia, and Elia is not there. Elia is not anywhere anymore. Instead, the prince just stands there and concentrates all his senses on his brother to shield himself from his own reaction to the news. Taking in Oberyn's grief he doesn't have to think about his own feelings, his own grief which is swelling in his throat and trying to swallow his brain.

 

He remembers Elia's eyes when they last saw each other: sad, tired but smiling. _Do not fret, brother. I will talk to Rhaegar and everything will be alright. Besides, even if my husband leaves me, I_ _'ll_ _still have my children._

 

The table at the head of Doran's bed is suddenly flying and crashing into the wall. Glass is shattered and splinters of wood cover the floor. The next thing Oberyn does is to kick the bed itself (because it is the nearest piece of furniture after the table). He is shouting but Doran's ears make the sound muffled; the black eyes of his brother are so similar to Elia's. His nose is the same as well as his ears. From now on the only way Doran is going to be able to look at his sister is by looking at Oberyn.

 

“I am going to King's Landing. I am going to butcher these murderers, these monsters,” the Red Viper says, turning toward the door. Those words finally make Doran take his brother's arm.

“Don't,” he says, as forcefully as he is able to, “the situation is chaotic there. You would be throwing your life away, killed before you would see a single Lannister.”

“I am not that weak, I--”

“You are not going. I command it.”

“Command?! Oh, have you become a king during the night? No, brother, older you may be but you do not command me. Our sister is dead. Elia is dead. Her children's heads have been _smashed_. If you expect me to sit here and let their murderers keep their lives, you do not know me. And if you are going to sit here and do nothing, you are as bad as them.”

 

There is fury in Oberyn's eyes and such strenght that Doran lets go. Calmly he looks at his brother's back as the man walks to the door and throws it open. He is caught immediately by the guards.

“When you are angry, you are also careless,” the older prince says as he approaches again, looking straight in the storm of the black eyes, “and that will cost you your life someday. I will not let it be this day. Elia will be avenged, as will her children, but not now. We will discuss this more once you've come to your senses again.”

 

Oberyn spits at his feet when the guards take him away. Doran closes his ears from his brother's shouting and retreats back to his bedroom. In the middle of the remaining parts of the destroyed table he sits down and bows his head. He punches the floor, hard, and watches the blood slowly colour his knuckles. As much as he would have liked to do it, he cannot send assassins to King's Landing, nor anyone to challenge the Lannisters in his name; that would lead into a disaster even worse. No, he must think, plan and prepare Dorne for what is coming. To that he need his brother's counsel, too, but only after the viper has calmed down.

 

When the prince's cupbearer finally ventures to come to the room, Doran is standing at the window.

“Bring me paper and ink,” he orders, eyes as cold as always, “I need to contact our allies.”

 


End file.
